


Three-Step Tiger

by manic_intent



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Silkpunk, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Kitsune, M/M, That silkpunk AU where Yang is a fox spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Reinhard watched Yang’s hands, hoping to see more magic. It wasn’t until a broad black brush of a tail tipped over Reinhard’s knees that he noticed the transition. Yang’s human-shaped ears were gone, hidden under longer sideburns. Sharp-tipped furred ears poked out from his skull instead, the same colour as his hair. Two fluffy fox tails flicked at Yang’s ankles. A black slit of a pupil bisected each amber eye, and as he smiled, sharp-tipped teeth distended his lip. Reinhard gasped. In his true form, Yang was the most beautiful thing that Reinhard had ever seen.
Relationships: Reinhard von Lohengramm/Yang Wenli
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	Three-Step Tiger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geraineon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geraineon/gifts).



> For geraineon, who asked for Reinyang, Silkpunk, bonus: Reinhard and Yang were childhood friends at some point, power play / possessiveness. HBD!! Hope you have a good one. 
> 
> I was originally going to set this in an alt-history version of the Qin Dynasty, but I got too lazy to do the research, so this is just an Asian-inspired silkpunk fantasy.

The bamboo grove in the Ambassadorial Residence was the only untidy corner in the curated garden of koi and lily flowers, a dark nook of dense foliage that smelled of soil and leaf-rot. Reinhard had gone within to hide when he’d heard attendants calling his name, tired of company and needing the quiet. Now he’d been walking for an hour, swallowed in odd twilight dusk, unable to find the way back and growing increasingly frustrated. The unseasonal warmth of the grove had his crisp jacket and shirt sticking to his skin, and Reinhard muttered a curse as he stripped off the coat, folding it over his arm. 

A soft laugh behind him had him whirl around, hand dropping to the ceremonial sword at his hip. An older Chinese boy sat perched on a rock that hadn’t been there before, watching him with amusement. The stranger wore his hair in a soft untidy mop over his gentle face, dressed in a plain dark blue hanfu over white inner robes. Reinhard stared. The officials and servants alike who Reinhard had seen so far wore their long hair bound under hats or pins, even the children.

“So it’s true,” the boy said, studying Reinhard intently. “You foreigners have hair the colour of new gold and skin like bleached bone.” 

“Who are you?” Reinhard asked, wary. Everyone—including the governor of Changjing City—had treated Reinhard’s father and his family with polite deference. He blinked. “You speak German.” 

“Not at all,” said the boy. On closer inspection, the words the boy’s lips shaped were indeed not the words that Reinhard ‘heard’. He took a step back, gripping the hilt of his sword. The boy pursed his lips. “If you’re going to be rude, I’ll leave.” 

He _was_ being rude. “I’m sorry. You startled me.” Reinhard forced his hand away from the blade. “My name is Reinhard von Müsel.” 

“Yang,” Yang said. 

“Do you work here?” 

The question made Yang laugh. “Little boy, where do you think ‘here’ is?” 

Reinhard bristled. “I’m not that much younger than you are. Don’t patronise me. We’re in the Governor’s Residence in Changjing.” 

“You _were_ in the Governor’s Residence. This is a twilight place, between your world and mine.” 

“That…” Reinhard trailed off. His feet ached. He had been walking for a while, a walk that was impossible given the actual size of the Residence. “Your world? An alternative world?”

“Not exactly. A coexisting one.” Yang held out a palm. “Would you like to see it?” 

Reinhard nodded, still young enough to be reckless. When he woke hours later, in bed, his boots dewed with sweet-scented water, pale gold petals flecked over his folded coat; he remembered nothing past Yang’s outstretched hand.

#

“You did something to me,” Reinhard said accusingly as he found Yang again in the grove.

“Oh. You’re back.” Yang looked him over curiously. “That’s unexpected.” 

“What’s unexpected? What did you do?” 

“It wasn’t my fault. Some people can’t retain memories from Jianghu.” Yang tilted his head. “Maybe it’s also because you’re a foreigner. Or because you’re still a child.” 

“Don’t be insulting.” 

“I’m not,” Yang said patiently. “Just stating a fact. Do you want to try again? Though, if you don’t remember anything, it’s just going to be tedious for everyone, since you’re just going to ask me the same questions.” 

Reinhard glared at Yang, but under Yang’s calm stare, he looked away and clenched his fists. “No. Not if I’m going to lose time again.” 

“Sensible.” 

“Talk to me about it instead. Bring me things from this other world, things I can remember.” 

Yang chuckled, amused. “Little boy, I’m not one of your servants.” 

Reinhard flushed in embarrassment and annoyance. “I… yes. I suppose you’re not. I apologise for my poorly chosen words. I’d love to know more about your world. In exchange, I’ll tell you about mine.” 

“Snacks,” Yang said, brightening up. 

“What?”

“Bring me snacks. Different ones every day, if you can help it. Especially if you can get ones from your part of the world, but if you can’t, that’s fine. Drinks and snacks.” 

“Wait here,” Reinhard said. Threading his way back through the bamboo grove on his own was quicker today—he walked only minutes before emerging into the koi garden. 

Keeping his head down, Reinhard stole into the Residence’s large kitchen, making his way through the quiet outdoor kitchen. In the lull between lunch and supper, the great woks sat quietly on their stone cradles instead of crumpling the air above them with their breath. Steam belched from the mouths of stone lions inset into the outer walls, leading to the great ovens and hotplates within the kitchen and from the cold room, somehow kept at icy temperatures without ice. Unlike the Imperium’s steam engines, the Chrysanthemum Kingdom’s subtle technology usually hid away behind stone and sculpture. The air smelled warmly of steamed rice.

Reinhard found what he was looking for in a tray left to cool in the corner of the kitchen. Loading as much as he could onto a plate, he looked around helplessly for drinks and found a pot of tea left to steep. 

When Reinhard returned to the grove, Yang’s bright smile lit up his gentle face. “The tea’s going cold, but it can’t be helped,” Reinhard said as he passed the plate to Yang. He looked around for a place to set the pot and cups down and flinched as Yang took it from him, puffing against its flank. Once, twice, and steam rose from the spout.

“Magic,” Reinhard breathed. 

“That? Just a little trick.” Yang poured tea for them both as a cube of densely packed dirt rose from the ground between them, shedding leaves. Yang set the pot down on the makeshift table and inspected the sweets, sniffing one curiously. Fine white strands wrapped neatly in a ring around crushed peanuts, sesame seeds, and crystallised honey, dusted with powdered sugar. 

“Dragon’s beard candy,” Reinhard said as he sat opposite Yang at the table. Too sweet for his palate, but it amused his sister. 

“I know what it is. First time I’ve eaten one, though.” Yang popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed. After a moment, he sighed in pleasure, licking sugar off his fingertips. Yang ate another, then another, before belatedly offering the plate to Reinhard. Reinhard shook his head, opting to have tea. The brew was far more bitter than what he was used to in the Imperium, but it had been one of several expensive gifts from dignitaries, and his father had been determined not to waste it.

When Yang finished all the candy and took a sip of the tea, Reinhard said, “Now uphold your end of the bargain.” 

“I’ll bring you something suitable next time,” Yang said. As Reinhard began to object, he put the plate down and got up, dusting down his robes. “In the meantime… here.” 

Here? Reinhard watched Yang’s hands, hoping to see more magic. It wasn’t until a broad black brush of a tail tipped over Reinhard’s knees that he noticed the transition. Yang’s human-shaped ears were gone, hidden under longer sideburns. Sharp-tipped furred ears poked out from his skull instead, the same colour as his hair. Two fluffy fox tails flicked at Yang’s ankles. A black slit of a pupil bisected each amber eye, and as he smiled, sharp-tipped teeth distended his lip. Reinhard gasped. In his true form, Yang was the most beautiful thing that Reinhard had ever seen.

As they finished the tea, Reinhard asked, “Can we meet again tomorrow?” 

“As you are now? As often as you want.” 

“What do you mean?” Reinhard asked, but Yang shook his head, pouring out the last of the tea.

#

“I don’t like this game,” Yang complained as he lost yet another round of xiangqi. Reinhard chuckled, resetting the board he’d borrowed from his father. A ‘river’ bisected the wooden board with boxed castles at each end. The objective was to capture the enemy general on the ‘black’ side or the enemy marshal on the ‘red’. Black started with advisors on either side, red with scholar-guardians. Reinhard loved the game, and he preferred to play black, which had elephants for bishops instead of ministers.

“I find it more philosophically interesting than chess, and less complicated than weiqi,” Reinhard said. 

“Some of the rules are just odd,” Yang said, picking up the red marshal. “This piece, for example. It’s stuck in the castle and can only move one point at the time, but in certain circumstances, with no pieces in between, it can ‘fly’ across to the other castle to capture the opposite general. What sort of philosophy is that?” 

“Why not?” Reinhard said, taking the piece from Yang and setting it back where it was. “Often, battles are fought cerebrally, between the two central commanders. They’re won and lost on the difference between their resolves, and the grandness of their strategies.” 

Yang’s ears flicked back and forth. “Humans are obsessed with war.” 

“Your world isn’t immune to it either.” Reinhard had heard enough of Yang’s stories to know that much.

“We don’t see it as anything glorious. Only a barbaric necessity of last resort.” Yang frowned at the board. “You could motivate me to play. That might work.” 

“A bet? That’s hardly fair. I’ve beaten you during every game so far. What do you want? I’ll give it to you tomorrow,” Reinhard said. He’d been feeling guilty about his wins—it’d been a little like bullying after Yang’s fifth straight loss. 

“If I’m motivated to win, I’ll win,” Yang said, thinking this over. “Hm. What about one of those jade tokens that humans like to give each other? Or those embroidered bags that smell so nice. Or a fan?” 

“I…” Reinhard trailed off, startled. Yang had asked for lover’s tokens. Innocently, perhaps? He was studying the board, his tails twisting over each other. “O-oh. All right.” 

Yang looked up, concerned at the catch in Reinhard’s voice. “You’ve turned all pink. What’s the matter?”

#

“Yang!” Reinhard paced around the rock in the grove. “Yang!”

“Hai, hai. So noisy.” Yang wasn’t there, then he was, stepping out behind bamboo. Reinhard’s latest growth spurt had made them equal in height, and he was still growing, taller than any boy his age in these parts. He and his sister tended to cut a striking profile in the city, and wealthy suitors had started plying the Residence with gifts. Reinhard disdained them all. As far as he was concerned, the greatest treasure in the Chrysanthemum Kingdom was here, smiling wryly as he pretended to lash his tails—now four—in irritation. 

“There you are.” Reinhard grasped Yang by his hands. As he grew older, he’d also taken to preferring hanfu over the stiff clothes sent in from the Imperium, to learning how to balance chopsticks, to speak the local dialects with the right intonation and grace. They no longer needed to lose words to the magic of translation. 

“You didn’t bring sweets,” Yang said, visibly disappointed. “I liked the thing you brought yesterday, the sweet you called chocolate.” 

“And you will have more of it, as much as you want, if you come with me.” 

Yang pulled his hands gently from Reinhard’s grip. “What’s this now?” 

“My father has been recalled to the Imperium. The new Chrysanthemum Emperor is a child, and his Cabinet of Ministers fears the presence of foreigners. They intend to close the Kingdom again,” Reinhard said. 

“Their fears are not unfounded,” Yang said, with a pointed glance at the new blade on Reinhard’s hip. “You’ve told me yourself how hungry the Imperium is for expansion. You said it bid for peace with the Chrysanthemum Court only because it’s still warring with the Allied Union to its west.” 

“So come with me,” Reinhard urged. “You’ll be happy in the Imperium. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow night. The Residence is being packed up as I speak.”

“Moving will be such a hassle—”

“Yang, please don’t joke.” 

“…Sit with me,” Yang said, pulling Reinhard to the rock. He drew a wrapped bundle of osmanthus cakes from his sleeve, unwrapping it over his lap. The snacks Yang brought from his world usually amused Reinhard. Baked with magic and delight, chewy candies sometimes melted into warm soups on the tongue, or changed colours when chewed, or changed flavours with each bite. Today, Reinhard was in no mood for cakes. 

“Yang,” Reinhard said. He scowled as Yang pushed a piece of cake into his mouth. 

“Don’t talk. Just eat.” Yang shifted closer as he picked a piece for himself. He took a bite and leaned into Reinhard, resting his cheek against Reinhard’s shoulder even as Reinhard stiffened in shock. For a long moment, he didn’t know where to put his hands. Yang’s tails curled against his knees and waist, his ears tickling his cheek. They ate in silence as Reinhard relaxed and leaned back against Yang. 

“You could come with me instead,” Yang said, as they dusted crumbs off their laps. 

“To a world that I won’t remember when I leave.” Reinhard shook his head. “I can’t abandon my sister.” 

“You don’t even know what you’re asking _me_ to leave,” Yang said, though he patted Reinhard’s knee as Reinhard drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t get upset. Let’s part as friends, with no bitterness between us. Come tomorrow, and I’ll give you a proper farewell gift. In return, I want chocolate.”

“You can’t dictate your gift,” Reinhard said, amused and annoyed all at once, a common emotion where Yang was concerned. 

“Why shouldn’t I, if I’m never going to see you again?”

“You will,” Reinhard said. Would it be presumptuous to pet one of the tails pressed so warmly against his hip? “If you won’t come with me because you can’t leave the grove, I’ll find a way to keep it. Garden and all.”

Yang laughed. “It’s not a simple matter of uprooting the trees and taking it with you.” 

“I see that. It’s this part of the world that you can’t leave. So I’ll make it mine.” 

“What a fierce little lion you are,” Yang said, patting his knee playfully. “You scare me sometimes. Don’t talk about that any more. How’s your sister faring?”

#

Reinhard hurried into the grove. Despite it being pitch dark outside, the grove retained the same twilight dusk as usual. “Yang!” Reinhard called. He’d never come this late. “Yang?”

Nor could he stay, not with everyone ready to leave. Word of the Imperial guards coming to take the ambassador and his staff captive for ransom had reached the ears of Reinhard’s father through a sympathetic friend. Reinhard looked around, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t wait much longer. He’d asked Annerose to stall for him outside, and the longer he took, the more he’d put her and their father in danger. 

Exhaling, Reinhard set his hastily wrapped gift on the stone. He waited for as long as he dared, calling Yang’s name. Only the dusk remained, returning silence against his pleas.

#

With the border province now flying the Imperial Lion, Reinhard drank to his fellow generals, waved away their congratulations and retired to his tent for the night. The bulk of the Imperial occupation stayed encamped outside the province, the moon highlighting the curved belly of the airship Brünhilde above, moored within bombardment range. He’d probably have to leave Bittenfeld in charge of the province to cover their flank. Kircheis would be a better choice for an administrator, but Reinhard still needed Kircheis’ leadership in the campaign ahead.

Mittermeier had asked Reinhard to retire aboard the Brünhilde for safety reasons, but Reinhard rebuffed him. Security was tight, and the enemy forces had been routed unceremoniously from the sector. Hiding aboard his flagship would give his troops the wrong signal. 

Reinhard nodded at the guards beside his tent as he ducked within and groped for the pull switch of the anbarite lamp suspended from the roof. It clicked alight before he could reach it and Reinhard leapt back, drawing his pistol—only to stare. “ _Yang!_ ” 

Yang smiled. He had grown taller, but Reinhard was taller yet full-grown and broader, his golden hair cut short over his nape. Yang’s was as unruly as ever over his cheeks, his dark blue hanfu embroidered with silver at the hems. Six tails fanned out behind him, twisting away into the shadow beyond the lamp. He flicked open the white silk fan that Reinhard had once hurriedly left as a farewell gift, hiding his mouth, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. 

“What are you doing here?” Reinhard holstered his pistol and strode over, pulling Yang into a tight hug. Yang stiffened, his tails twitching around them, his hands staying loose beside him until Reinhard drew back in confusion, though his hands lingered over Yang’s arms. 

“What am _I_ doing here?” Yang said, flicking the fan shut and tapping Reinhard in the chest with its bamboo spine. “What are you doing here, with your airships and your golems?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

Yang’s lips pressed into a thin line. “War. Because of me?” 

“No,” Reinhard said, which was true and untrue at the same time. He needed military merit to get where he wanted: to build a power base where no one could ever dictate his or his sister’s lives ever again. Invading the Kingdom was one possible means to this end, a means that he preferred because of the creature before him now. 

Yang’s ears flattened against his skull as he looked away, biting at his lower lip. “I should have known,” Yang said. “The Red Sparrow read as much in your stars.” 

“What are you talking about?” Reinhard asked. He couldn’t compress away the joy that welled within him with Yang so close, wreathed with the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers and sandalwood. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“I should kill you right now,” Yang said. He sounded tired as he looked up, curling his fingers gently over Reinhard’s throat. The blunt tips of his nails turned into sharpened tips, scratching lightly over Reinhard’s skin. Instinct screamed at Reinhard to jerk away, to draw his blade, but he stayed still and calm. Stared down Yang until the claws retracted back into blunt fingers. 

“Why would you care about what happens to this world? It isn’t yours.” 

“It’s bound to mine. I don’t care for the Emperor or his Cabinet. But war will ruin the land and the lives of all the innocents living upon it. Their deaths will seep into mine as a poison, birthing yaoguai and yuangui alike, a cancer of violence that will breed more violence.” 

“All wars breed suffering for a time,” Reinhard said. “They are the means to an end. I don’t intend to fight an endless war, or one that causes unnecessary bloodshed. But I do intend to fight for what I want.” 

“Power,” Yang said. He tried to pull away from Reinhard’s grip. 

“Yang. That day, I had to leave early, I couldn’t—”

“I could guess. I got your gift, didn’t I?” Yang tapped Reinhard with the fan again. 

“The love I felt for you as a boy, it hasn’t changed.” Reinhard wasn’t sure what else he could say. He imagined meeting Yang again over the years, always in the grove. Imagined a hundred different scenarios—Yang disappointed, furious, joyous, playful. This ugly tension was not a scenario he’d overlooked, but it still twisted at his gut and tied up his tongue. 

Yang shivered. Gently, but with inexorable strength, he pried Reinhard’s hands off his arms. “My golden lion, how well you’ve grown,” Yang said, his tone warm, his smile bitter. He clasped Reinhard’s hands before him and brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

#

Reinhard annexed two more provinces before his advance was halted before Changjing City. The Chrysanthemum forces, previously overconfident because of their greater numbers, had seemed unprepared for the ferocity of Reinhard’s strategy. Now, they rallied. Thick cloud cover that often appeared out of nowhere limited airship use, forcing Reinhard to fight it out overland. Mysterious forces conducted daring raids on Reinhard’s supply lines and camps at night, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing when everything was set alight. Their steam golems began to suffer strange malfunctions, sometimes veering off to attack the others.

His men cursed the enemy for their underhanded tactics. Reinhard, on the other hand, only grew more amused with each bit of ground they had to cede, sometimes laughing outright when briefed about the latest disaster. It dismayed his Generals in varying degrees. 

“The High Commander was looking for a good fight,” Reuenthal told Mittermeier when they retired to Mittermeier’s tent for a drink. “Now he’s found one.” 

“I don’t mind a challenge,” Mittermeier grumbled, “but we’re on the verge of having to withdraw back to Jin’an.”

“I’m more curious about who this brilliant new general might be,” Reuenthal said as he poured wine for them both. “As far as we can tell, there haven’t been any changes to the enemy’s chain of command. Yet Reinhard acts like there has been.”

“Oberstein’s spies haven’t managed to ferret anything out yet?” 

Reuenthal snorted. “If you ask me, that man’s reputation is completely overblown. He hasn’t even been able to find the spies in our midst.” 

“You still suspect that?” 

“How else is the enemy able to predict our every move with such accuracy? I’d rather believe in security leaks than in mysterious new genius strategists,” Reuenthal said. He pulled a face. “Or magic, if you’d stoop to superstition.”

“I wonder,” Mittermeier said. He’d spent a little time in the Kingdom himself when young, before it’d closed its borders, and had seen several inexplicable things. 

“Whatever it is, I hope they savour the victories they have,” Reuenthal said, sipping his wine. Magic or mysterious new strategists or not, the Imperium had an actual genius on their side, one who had proved his mettle time and again. Of all the generals, Reuenthal saw their slowed advance as what it truly was: a game that Reinhard was choosing to play, against an opponent that he had so far decided not to disclose. So be it. It suited Reuenthal for their conquest to be more of a challenge.

#

When Reinhard finally annexed Changjing City, the Chrysanthemum Throne bid for peace. Reinhard left the messengers waiting, opting to return to the house he had lived in for much of his childhood, where he had spent the best years of his life. The wealthy family that occupied it fled when the city fell, and their hasty retreat was evident in the open drawers and ransacked chests, the clothes and household effects left strewn underfoot. Reinhard ignored them all, striding through the house to the stone garden. The koi in the pools were gone. Eaten during the siege, perhaps. Reinhard ran his fingers over the rail of a garden bridge and watched his hand come away ashy. He’d bombarded the city for days until it’d capitulated. Even now, dark plumes of greasy smoke marked parts of the city which were still on fire.

“Reinhard,” Kircheis said as Reinhard stopped before the grove. Unlike the rest of the garden, the bamboo looked untouched by ashfall, as verdant and inviting as ever. Kircheis knew about Yang. Only Kircheis and Annerose knew. 

“Wait for me here,” Reinhard said. He handed Kircheis his pistol and his blade. 

“I’ll go with you.” 

“Wait. Here,” Reinhard said, staring down Kircheis until his friend and right-hand man dropped his gaze. 

Despite his scale armour coat, the bamboo grove grew cold as he walked into its depths. Reinhard’s breath began to ease out of his lips in pale puffs as he rubbed his palms together, looking for landmarks. The bamboo grew denser together, their trunks yellowing to black near the roots. Once caught in a constant whisper of rustling leaves, the grove was eerily quiet. 

Reinhard stumbled over something jutting out from the ground and righted himself against a bamboo trunk. He jerked back with an oath. The thing he’d tripped over was a human hand, partly buried, withered grey. Similar protrusions riddled the uneven ground. Clenching his fists, Reinhard walked on, careful of where he put his feet. The ill-buried dead was nothing to be afraid of. It was what all conquerors left in their wake. 

The bamboo grove grew sparse, the trunks more orderly, bending inward as though in yearning. They pointed Reinhard to an archway of ivory and bamboo, bound with tendons of root and flesh that grew out of the rotting earth. Yang waited for him under the arch, dressed in a plain blue hanfu akin to the one he had worn on their first meeting. He held no weapon, and nine black tails curled against his feet. 

“You’ve lost,” Reinhard said. Yang’s strategies were brilliant, but he wasn’t human. The Chrysanthemum Throne would never give a fox spirit enough of a command to make a difference. The battle before Reinhard would be a bloody slog, but Reinhard could take the Throne if he wanted and the king knew it. It was why he had bid for peace. 

“Not yet,” Yang said. He pressed his palms together, ears pricked forward. “There aren’t any pieces between us now, are there?” 

“So there aren’t. But is it your turn now, or mine?” 

Reinhard advanced. Yang’s tails curled around the back of his knees as Reinhard took Yang into his arms, bending tentatively, tenderly. As they kissed, clumsy and wondering, Reinhard walked them both across the arch, a step from winter into spring. Yang’s world bloomed past the arch, sunlight drenching a field of wildflowers guarded by gnarled trees hung heavy with cherry blossoms. A sweet breeze tickled the petals around them that blushed pale gold when they stuck to Reinhard’s sleeves. He ignored it all, daring to kiss Yang deeply, to twist his hand into Yang’s hair, to rub a palm down the graceful arch of Yang’s back to the roots of his tails. Sharp teeth pricked Reinhard’s lower lip as Yang kissed him back, delicate hands twisting into Reinhard’s collar as Yang pulled him down on the threshold between their worlds.

Fingers tickled over his cheek, teasing through Reinhard’s golden hair. Yang unbuckled Reinhard’s heavy coat, pulling it off his shoulders and tossing it aside. Reinhard tugged open Yang’s blue hanfu in response, pulling urgently at the sashes of his inner robes. The devouring lust that burned through Reinhard made him bolder than he would be beyond the arch. He needed to see Yang bare beneath him.

Yang’s fingers trembled as they eased Reinhard’s hair out of his eyes. He often forgot to kiss, licking over Reinhard’s mouth instead, his jaw, his cheek. “Why do I want you?” Yang said as Reinhard buried his lips against Yang’s throat. “Souls like yours are always hungry. Unable to be satisfied, they’d eat up everything around them in the end. Even themselves.” 

“Unkind words,” Reinhard said, though he knew them to be true. He knew the drive inside him for what it was. He could blame it on wanting to protect his sister, but he knew there was no satisfying his desire for power. It was partly why he wanted Yang so. Submerged beneath the equilibrium of Yang’s gentle temper, Reinhard could for a moment be something better than what he was.

Stripped down with their clothes heaped aside, nestled over Yang’s robes, Reinhard tried to kiss down the smooth line of Yang’s chest. Clawed fingers held him still, pricking but not breaking the skin on his cheeks. Yang licked into his mouth, tails folding over them both. They rubbed tentatively together and Reinhard winced, pulling away to spit in his palm and grasp them both. Yang made an inarticulate, inhuman sound deep in his throat, closing his eyes in bliss as he moved against Reinhard’s grip, ears twitching. 

“Stay with me,” Reinhard panted against Yang’s skin as his hunger reemerged. “Come back with me to the Imperium. You can walk outside the grove now, can’t you? Come with me.” 

Yang reached between his thighs instead of answering, conjuring slick out of nowhere that brushed in a titillating trail against Reinhard’s belly. He hissed and growled words Reinhard couldn’t make out as he spread himself, his knees tightening against Reinhard’s hips, his tails bearing down over Reinhard’s spine. Reinhard tried to help and got bitten hard over his shoulder for the trouble. He huffed and continued stroking them, long and slow, until eventually Yang made a bitten-off snarl and twisted onto his hands and knees. 

The tails got everywhere. Reinhard started to laugh as he pushed one out of the way and got a mouthful of fur for his efforts. Somehow they fit together anyway, with Reinhard’s teeth sunk into the nape of Yang’s neck as he pressed inside that slick and damning heat. He knew even as clawed fingertips trailed light scratches over his throat that he was ruined, that this was why stories about fox spirits were almost always about obsession. 

Yang grumbled and wriggled impatiently once Reinhard was fully seated, bucking until Reinhard took the hint and braced his weight. With each thrust, Yang yowled and scratched at the grass, his teeth lengthening against his lips. Tails twisted between Reinhard’s thighs and against his tightening balls, urging him on. Deeper. Reinhard moaned Yang’s name as he drove against him, his knees bruising out the scent of grass and soil into the sweet-scented air. He didn’t know how long they spent in the eternal spring, taking pleasure from each other. Maybe this was Yang’s answer to Reinhard’s request, a counter-offer sweetened with a gesture of goodwill. As he spent himself, all he could hear was Yang’s breathless laughter. 

“Come with me,” Reinhard said as they lay beside each other, catching their breaths. “If you don’t, I won’t accept the peace agreement. I’ll tear down every wall they put in my way until I sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne.” 

“And you think that will gain you my love?” Yang said with laughter in his eyes, his clawed fingertips tickling down over Reinhard’s jaw.

“Don’t I already have that?” Reinhard drew Yang closer, kissing the laughter from his eyes, from the curl to his mouth. “It’s the rest of you that I want.” 

“Come away with _me_ ,” Yang murmured, nuzzling Reinhard’s cheek. “Bring your sister, your friend, whoever you wish. Learn how to be less hungry.”

“Not yet,” Reinhard said. Yang drew back in disappointment, but Reinhard held him close. “Stay with me for five years. After that, if you like, I’ll try things your way.” 

Yang curled his tails around them both, looking over his shoulder at the blossoms, his ears twitching forward and back. “What happens in five years?” 

“I’ll free my sister by then. And hopefully, learn how to be content with what I have,” Reinhard said wryly. 

“That, I’d like to see,” Yang said. He studied Reinhard soberly, stroking his cheek as his tails settled around them both, and hummed as Reinhard leaned in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> prompt policy: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> \--  
> Refs:  
> https://www.pychess.org/variant/xiangqi 
> 
> Jianghu: The martial arts world in wuxia stories is called the jianghu ^^ Not exactly akin to Faerie in those stories, but in this, sort of like a parallel magical xianxia world where fox spirits exist and people can fly on swords I guess.


End file.
